What is surer than Death?
by Mistressdickens
Summary: Spoilers for S6E5. Set during and after the terrible events of the red dinner (as it will forever be known now), Mrs Carson tries to find a way to comfort her husband.


**A/N: Well, this was difficult. I tried to gauge how far into dinner they were before the terrible moment happened, but who knows. I think the consome went up, and they were about to serve it. Or they've already eaten it …. Ummm. Artistic licence right?**

It began much as any other night, with a grand party and an even grander guest to be impressed. The fight for the hospital was on, and Andrew gave them all an amusing report of the tug of war over Mr Chamberlain's allegiances. Mrs Hughes allowed herself a smile at the rescue Mr Branson had provided. Some things would always stay the same, no matter how relationships changed things. She put the amusement from her mind, knowing she'd get a full account from her husband on the way home, and went about her business.

A mere fifteen minutes later, however, the abbey was thrown into chaos. Mr Barrow had come skidding down the stairs shouting for towels.

'Whatever's the matter?' queried Mrs Patmore, who had left the preparations for the second course to see what the noise was about. Anna and Miss Baxter appeared in the doorway of the servant's hall, alarmed by Mr Barrow's urgency, but he only had eyes for the housekeeper, hurrying down the hall from her sitting room.

'Mrs Hughes. I need towels – now! His Lordship has collapsed, there's blood _everywhere_! Towels!'

The urgency of this last word, coupled with the fact Mrs Hughes had spotted crimson flecks on his normally pristine gloves snapped his superior from her bemused stupor and she slipped into the laundry, grabbing a pile nearest to her, not stopping to check if they were clean. Somehow she didn't think it would matter.

Returning to the corridor, she hurried to hand over the towels, pushing through the growing mele of staff.

'What's happening up there?' she asked to the already retreating back of Mr Barrow.

'Mr Carson's phoning for an ambulance' he threw over his shoulder, not breaking his stride. 'You should all stay down here.'

They were hardly likely to go anywhere else and the stairwell seemed the best place to congregate so as to be on the spot for any news, or a request for help. Without proper news, or an explanation for the sudden collapse, they all fell to whispered speculation. Mrs Hughes felt slightly dazed by the sudden turn of events, and more than a little concerned for how Mr Carson might be faring. He would be fully professional in this time of crisis, as unflappable as she was when it was most important, but she knew how very alarmed and disturbed he would be. He took the woes of the family extremely personally. She remembered how crushed he had been at the death of Lady Sybil. True enough it had affected them all, but he had watched her grow and knew her best. The same was true of Lord Grantham, she realised. They were nearly of an age and he had provided support, quietly in the background, through all life's ups and downs. She could only imagine how entirely his world must have been rocked.

And then, there he was, hurrying down the stairs faster than she had ever seen him, instantly questioned by the worried staff. His own concern showed through the hurried instructions he issued. He had taken sanctuary in detail, reminding Anna and Miss Baxter to take care of Lady Edith alongside their other duties. It was a rare thing that the woman's lack of a Lady's maid really mattered, but tonight it was absolutely imperative she not be forgotten.

The staff dispersed as quickly as they could, anxious to be of some help, and at last she could turn to him and speak. 'I can't believe it'. The wonder and sorrow was evident in her voice and the look on his face spoke volumes. He had inclined his head as he faced her and his eyebrows arched as she spoke, acknowledging yet another drama they shared in. She knew it would be no use to offer him any other comfort than her words at that point, he was subsuming his panic in action, and if he allowed himself to pause, he would break. She knew it totally and did not reach our, even as he uttered a totally depressing axiom.

'Life is short, Death is sure. That's all we know.' he rumbled and moved off down the corridor, the set of his shoulders not quite as straight as they would normally be.

She watched him go, and her heart squeezed painfully as she thought of the stark despair that could be heard in his words. She couldn't help him at this moment, but knew her time would come soon enough. If his Lordship were to … no, she would not dwell on that possible outcome. Instead she focussed on what Mrs Patmore was saying. 'Everything he based his life on has proved mortal after all.'

That line of thought was dangerous too. If she pondered the frailties of life, she might cry, so she allowed her Scottish pragmatism to take hold. 'We've no time for philosophy, Mrs Patmore. What can we do to help?'

Hours later and the entire staff, save one butler, were huddled together around the table. No one spoke, for their thoughts were all at the hospital, and it felt like a transgression to voice their hopes and worries. All the details of the evening had been shared and now there was nothing to do but wait. The shrill sound of the telephone drew Mrs Hughes's attention and she held her breath as she waited for the news. What would it be? Life or death? She hardly dared allow herself to imagine what would happen if Lord Grantham had not survived.

The quick, yet steady, step of Mr Carson in the hall announced his presence, and in a voice filled with relief, he told them the news, the good news, that his Lordship was out of danger and recovering after his operation. Purpose for this shell shocked band of people was suddenly restored. She noted that Mr Carson had retreated to his pantry once more and decided to leave him alone for a few minutes. He had been shattered and need to put himself together before she tried to comfort him. A chink in the armour she could deal with, she didn't know what to do with the pieces of Charles Carson.

'Andrew, Mr Barrow – I take it the dining room is still in the state it was abandoned?' At their nods, she squared her shoulders and moved towards the stairs.

'Well then, perhaps we had better go and remove the lines and asses what else needs to be done first thing tomorrow.'

She was surprised to find that the two men did not follow and turned to fix them with a steely look.

'I'm not sure you should go up Mrs Hughes. It's quite … dramatic.'

'Nonsense Mr Barrow. I did grow up on a farm. Let's get on.'

She moved off in a manner which brooked no argument and was up the stairs, the men trailing in her wake, before anyone else could stop her. She entered the dining room and rounded the screen which hid the servant's entrance from the rest of the room and stopped short, Andrew almost colliding into her back.

'Oh my God' she whispered, a hand clutching at her throat.

She had never seen the room in such disarray. Chairs were toppled, glasses had been knocked over, napkins and towels were everywhere. On the floor in the centre of the chaos, a large pool of blood glistened, along with a black evening coat, hastily folded up as some sort of pillow, and a number of deep crimson napkins. Her eyes moved from the floor and she gasped for a second time as she saw the great crimson stain which stretched across the table, far further than she supposed might have been possible. It was like a scene out of the gothic novels of which she was so fond, but a thousand times worse. She gripped the side of the screen as she took it all in.

'Mrs Hughes, you really ought not to have seen this.'

Mr Branson had entered from the other door, and was moving towards her in great concern.

'Nonsense. This needs to be set straight before their ladyships have a chance to see it again, and many hands make light work.' She tried to smile, but owned to herself that she was quite shaken, and wondered how Charles could even make a pretence of being calm after witnessing such things.

'Then let mine be of assistance' insisted Mr Branson. 'I shan't be able to sleep, and I'd like to be as useful as I can. You don't mind, do you Mr Barrow?'

Mrs Hughes was sure the under butler would not take kindly to this crossing of the divide, but his 'not at all sir' sounded sincere enough, and so she bowed out gracefully, issuing instructions to take the linens directly to the laundry. 'I doubt they can be saved, but we can try. Leave the carpet until the morning, but make sure it's the first thing you do.'

She returned downstairs and pausing only to pull on her coat and hat, she moved to the butler's pantry.

The door was closed and she heard no sound from within. She turned the handle without knocking and stepped inside. Her husband was sitting in one of the chairs by the fireplace and was staring down at his hands, which were loosely linked together. He didn't look up as she entered, nor when she placed herself in front of him. She wanted to touch him, feeling shaken from what she had witnessed upstairs, but divined that it would still not be wise to do so here. Better to get away from the house to their own cottage.

'It's time we were going home Charles.'

The use of his name was almost as volatile as touch, she reflected. Certainly it caused his head to snap up. His eyes connected with hers and she almost gasped at the pain, loss, confusion, hope and sadness she saw within their depths.

'We should start to clear up, it wouldn't do …'

'All taken care of' she interrupted. 'We should go home, you'll be needed just as much tomorrow and in the weeks to come, and you can't be a pillar of strength on no sleep.'

To her relief he merely nodded and rose to fetch his coat. It was not long before they were walking briskly through the grounds towards their home. The silence around them was total. Elsie debated within herself and then curled her arm about his, but made no attempt to break into her husband's thoughts. She needed to feel his bulk against her, but she could just as easily pretend she held onto him so as not to trip in the darkness. She heard his breath shudder from him, and his free hand covered the one she had wound about his arm for a moment, but the silence remained.

The cottage was reached soon enough and as Mr Carson stooped to unlock the door, she chanced to look up at the sky. In a moment, all thoughts of entering her house were put aside and she took a step or two backwards, all the while looking heavenwards.

'Elsie?'

She heard the tired enquiry in his voice but could not bear to tear her gaze away from the marvels above her head. She held out her hand to him blindly, overjoyed when he took it a moment later and whispered 'The sky's pocked with stars. What eyes the wise men must have had to see a new one in so many.'

It was true. She had never seen so many stars. Had never stopped to look properly. On a night such as this it brought immeasurable comfort, as did the arms of her husband, who now stood behind her, his arms winding about her, his hands resting atop hers. She felt the heavy pressure of his chin which rested against the side of her head and delighted at the way they fit together. His little rumbled hum of contentment gave her hope that this quiet reflection was helping assuage the troubles of the day, and she leaned back into his arms.

'Elsie, love, the stars are quite wonderful, but they'll still be there another night. Right now, I just want to get into the warm.'

She understood all that he was not saying and silently led him to their door. Divesting themselves of their coats, she moved towards the stairs but found he was walking towards the kitchen.

'I think I'd like a cup of tea.'

'I can do …'

'No, thank you. I need to do something with my hands, or I'll go mad.'

He entered the kitchen and she followed slowly, resting against the divide between it and the dining room. He had grown agitated again, she could see in the way he crossed the kitchen, back and forth, far more frequently than he needed to. She wanted to talk to him, to draw him out and comfort him, but what to say was a problem. She could hardly ask how he was, it was obvious and he'd just brush it off. She wanted him to open up; needed him to do so after the last few days of miscommunication, which they'd sort of resolved, although she still felt he didn't truly understand what the problem was. But now was not the time to rake over those issues. Tonight they were both shocked and disturbed, and she needed to soothe him, help him see it would be alright. She ran through the events of the evening and saw a way to reach him.

'You said earlier that Death is sure, as if it's the only thing you can rely on.'

'Well, it's true' he said, frowning as he glanced up from spooning tea leaves into the pot.

'But you've forgotten that there's something even surer than death. Something which outlasts it even.'

He paused his actions completely and turned to face her, the tea caddy still in his hands. He didn't ask her what she meant, just raised an eyebrow and nodded his head at her.

She felt he had understood her meaning already. Her face softened as she looked at him and she stood a little straighter as she said the words which meant so much.

'Love, Charles. We can be very sure of that, whatever else may happen.'

The tea caddy clattered on the table as he abandoned his task and crossed the room so swiftly she barely had time to register. All at once his arms were about her and he crushed her body to his, as he stroked her hair and buried his face in the crook of her neck.

'Thank God for you Elsie', he murmured.

She ran her hands along his back as she felt his breath tickle at her neck but said nothing. Now that he had broken his silence, however, the words seemed to tumble from his lips almost without thought.

'I mean it. I thank God every day that I have your love and your strength. Never leave me. I'm not sure I could stand it.'

She pulled back to look into his eyes, brushing his hair away from his forehead, and placed her hands firmly on his shoulders. 'I cannot promise to become immortal Charles. One day I will die, and so will you, and everybody under the Abbey's roof as well. But when that happens, remember than I will still live in here.' She drew a hand down to sit over his heart, tapping it gently.

'And I've not ruined it by the last few days? You've been so angry with me.'

'A very wise man once wrote that love 'looks on tempests and is never shaken'. Now is not the time to discuss why I've been so upset, although we will.'

She smiled at him, but he felt the steel in the promise.

'We've argued for the last twenty years and that makes us the people we are. It doesn't stop us loving each other – if it did, I wouldn't be standing here in your arms, hoping you'll kiss me. I'm on your side Charles.'

'Thank you for that' he said, even as he lowered his lips to hers.

He had meant to kiss her slowly, leisurely and calmly, to prove how much he appreciated her words, but she sighed into his mouth and it was too much to resist. Restraint lost, he deepened the kiss, his tongue darting in and out to taste her, as he crushed her body to him. He relished the sweep of her waist and the feel of her breasts, even in their strict casing, pressed against him, her hands were behind his head, her fingers tickling the hair at the nape of his neck, encouraging him to deepen the kiss still further. They groaned simultaneously as the evidence of his desire rose up between them.

He broke away from her lips and nipped at her neck, first one side and then the other, and then moved up to her jaw line. The fingers of one hand found her collarbone and danced along it, before finding purchase at the top of her dress. He knew all her clothes intimately now, and he found the small button in the front section with relative ease, even as he continued pressing urgent kisses to her face.

She knew well what he was doing and was almost lost to desire as she felt his fingers brush against her skin. 'Charles!' she gasped 'Don't start something we can't finish. We've got to be up in a few hours.'

'For once, I don't think anyone will make a remark if we look like we've had no sleep' he said, his voice breathless and heavy with desire. He turned, grasping her hands in his and led her towards the stairs. Death might be sure, but love was surer and the Carsons proved it to each other than night.

 **A/N: Argh, that was hard, because I couldn't decide if they'd cleared the air about the cooking fiasco, and decided they probably hadn't. This was inspired by many posts on tumblr, and my feelings looking at her face as he turns away during his first appearance downstairs and how I think her heart might be breaking for him.**

 **The stars quote comes from the wonderful film 'Lion in Winter'. If you've not seen it, go watch it right now! The love and tempests quote is from Shakespeare's sonnet 116.**

 **Reviews are lovely things and make my day.**


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